The Chourineur and the Schoolmaster remained alone. After a lengthened silence the latter spoke first, by inquiring whether it were really true that the pocketbook presented to him contained money. "Yes, I can positively speak to its containing five thousand francs," replied the Chourineur, "since I put them in it with my own hand. With that sum you could easily place yourself to board with some quiet, good sort of people, who would look to you,--in some retired spot in the country, where you might pass your days happily. Or would you like me to take you to the ogress's?" "She! she would not leave me a rap." "Well, then, will you go to Bras Rouge?" "No, no! He would poison me first and rob me afterwards." "Well, then, where shall I take you?" "I know not. Happily for both, you are no thief, Chourineur. Here, take my pocketbook, and conceal it carefully in my waistcoat, that La Chouette may not see it; she would plunder me of every sou." "Oh, bless you! the Chouette is quite safe just now; she lies in the Hôpital Beaujon. While I was struggling with you both to-night I happened to dislocate her leg, so she's obliged to lie up for the present." "But what, in heaven's name, shall I do with this black curtain continually before my eyes? In vain I try to push it away; it is still there, fixed, immovable; and on its surface I see the pale, ghastly features of those--" He shuddered, and said in a low, hoarse voice, "Chourineur, did I quite do for that man last night?" "No." "So much the better," observed the robber. And then, after some minutes' silence, he exclaimed, under a fresh impulse of ungovernable fury, "And it is you I have to thank for all this! Rascal! scoundrel! I hate you! But for you, I should have 'stiffened' my man and walked off with his money. My very blindness I owe to you; my curses upon you for your meddling interference! But through you I should have had my blessed eyes to see my own way with. How do I know what devil's trick you are planning at this moment?" "Try to forget all that is past,--it can't be helped now; and do not put yourself in such a terrible way,--it is really very bad for you. Come, come along--now, no nonsense--will you? yes or no?--because I am regularly done up, and must get a short snooze somewhere. I can tell you I have had a bellyful of such doings, and to-morrow I shall get back to my timber-pile, and earn an honest dinner before I eat it. I am only waiting to take you wherever you decide upon going, and then on goes my nightcap and I goes to sleep." "But how can I tell you where to take me, when I do not know myself? My lodging--No, no, that will not do; I should be obliged to tell--"